


M'accorderiez-vous cette dance?

by cyanure



Category: Inception (2010)
Genre: 1890s, Alternate Universe - Victorian, Beware, Dancing, M/M, Waltzing, graphic depiction of waltzing
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-07-12
Updated: 2016-07-12
Packaged: 2018-07-22 04:41:10
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,906
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7420291
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cyanure/pseuds/cyanure
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Arthur receives an invitation to the infamous Cobb's family elite ball. He ends up meeting an infamous individual himself.</p>
            </blockquote>





	M'accorderiez-vous cette dance?

**Author's Note:**

> So this is the first work I ever post and this has been an adventure, from reading about waltz etiquette at 4am to listening to the Blue Danube on repeat for hours, so I hope you enjoy reading it as much as I enjoyed writing it.
> 
> Special thanks to my ever so talented beta [RobinRedR](http://archiveofourown.org/users/RobinRedR/pseuds/RobinRedR) for holding my hand through this and not wanting to bash my head in because of my terrible grammar. (and for texting you at ungodly hours.)

Bright lights and slightly muffled music pour through the glass of the great windows of the private mansion the reception is held at. Lights dance on the cobblestone streets, tracing intricate patterns on the tips of Arthur's shoes as he stands in the brisk weather of this month of January, wrapped up in his thick coat. He holds his invitation securely in a tight grasp.

Mallorie Cobb and her husband, Dominic, have been repeating this tradition for several years now. They'd rent out a beautiful private mansion in the heart of London and organize one of the most delightful ball for the upper-class, assorted of champagne and witty discussions. The elite would talk all year about the upcoming event, hoping to be invited in their turn. Even though the reception is grandiose, the guest list is rather short, most of the people invited are the Cobbs' families, friends and contacts.

This is why Arthur prides himself on getting an invitation and isn't going to let the brutal wind tear it away from him. He doesn't really know how he managed to get enough attention from the Cobbs to receive the delicately written card mounted with golden arabesques. He had only met Mallorie Cobb once, talking to her thanks to a mutual acquaintance, his friend, Ariadne.

Ariadne Hamilton is a beautiful young lady, older than Arthur by two years, known for writing poetry that delights even the Queen. Ariadne had been attending an opera with Arthur when she had caught sight of Mrs. Mallorie and had introduced them. Arthur isn't a famous poet, writer or anything that could have impressed the lady, he is only a young man whose parents passed away too early, leaving him with a consequent fortune to spend on whatever pleased him. But Arthur uses it with caution, living day to day, holed up in his apartment close to the Royal Palace, reading books and playing the piano.

Ariadne had tried to get him to attend more mundane events since they met at an event discussing Shakespeare's works. It seems she finally managed to get her way by convincing Mrs. Cobb to add Arthur to her list of guests of honour for this year's, 1891, Winter Ball.

He isn't nervous, he is in total control of himself and if he is shaking it is only because of the piercing freezing wind.

The steps leading up the beautifully _art nouveau_ decorated door are made of the finest marble Arthur has ever seen and he climbs them quickly, hurrying to escape the London weather. A man in costume opens the door for him and asks for his invitation; after looking at it carefully, he hands it back to Arthur, extending his arm to invite him to enter the reception hall. He sheds his heavy coat, leaving it at the cloakroom and gets a quick glimpse of himself in one of the plethora of mirrors adorning the walls of the large building.

He thinks he looks pretty good in his black suit, white shirt and polished shoes, topped with his naturally tousled curls framing his delicate face. Ariadne had helped him pick his outfit a few days prior when he had admitted, to her horror, that he hadn't chosen one yet. The little twist he made on his outfit was to tie a burgundy ribbon in place of the usual bow tie to match Ariadne's dress. After all, this ball is an opportunity for her to introduce her fiancé to the society and Arthur wants to make a little tribute to her somehow.

He crosses the entrance hall to join the party in the Grand Salon which is in full swing when he finally passes through the open glass door. Magnificent crystal chandeliers are hanging from the expertly painted ceilings, flowers cover the tables and chimneys, the floor is tilled with fine marble and an orchestra is playing in a corner, delivering a melody to which people are waltzing slowly in a blur of frills, fans and light-hearted chatter and laughs.

Arthur barely has time to take everything in and be amazed, it is, after all, his first ball he is only freshly eighteen, before Ariadne comes to him, her dress swinging behind her. She looks positively radiant, her burgundy gown flowing freely from her waist and her décolleté revealing her shoulders and arms even if she is wearing long cream-coloured gloves. Her hair is delicately pinned up, a few curled strands bouncing freely around her face.

She clasps her gloved hand over Arthur's.

«Arthur! I am so glad you came! I started to think you decided Shakespeare was worth more of your time than your friends.» She scowls jokingly.

Arthur places a hand on his heart dramatically. « _I_? I'd never!»

And Ariadne hits him playfully with her ivory fan.

«Come now, I have to introduce you to everyone.»

Ariadne drags him towards the very end of the room where Mallorie and Cobb are chatting with a man Arthur has never met before. His tanned skin and curly black hair contrast with the cream coloured suit he is wearing.

Ariadne hooks her arm on Arthur's and stops in front of them.

«Mallorie, Dominic, this is my friend, Arthur.»

Mallorie greets him with a warm smile and whatever fear he had towards her vanishes all at once. She is very impressive in her blood red dress and skilfully-done hairdo involving pearls and gems but the softness of her smile is reassuring enough that Arthur finds himself smiling back, bowing a little. While most married women would wear exuberant gowns and attires, Mallorie Cobb knows how to remain simple yet incredibly elegant.

«Pleasure to meet you.» Dominic shakes his hand firmly, smiling too. And Arthur thinks these two makes the most attractive couple he had ever seen in his life.

Then Ariadne turns to the man in the light suit and leaves his arm only to loop hers with the stranger's.

«And this is Yusuf. My fiancé. Yusuf, Arthur, Arthur Yusuf.» She introduces them and they shake hands.

They all talk cheerfully for a little while, enjoying champagne when it is brought to them. Arthur's discomfort about being in society and having to deal with people he doesn't know slowly fades into the back of his head as Yusuf tells him about his trips to India and to the deepest parts of Asia, about how he met Ariadne (He bumped into a waiter at a ball and sent several glasses of wine tumbling onto Ariadne's dress) and Dominic tells him how happy he is to see Arthur attending their “little" party, while Mallorie heaps praises on him. Arthur asks himself what he could have done to leave such a lasting impression on Mallorie but he decides he won't dwell on it while enjoying the party.

That is when he notices a man, on the opposite side of the room, arm resting on the side of the chimney, a glass of half finished champagne in his gloved hand, his gaze fixed on him. His whole body is feigning boredom but his blue eyes are solely focused on Arthur. He feels suddenly uneasy being stared at so intently. Even when Arthur catches his glance, the man doesn't look away. Arthur thinks he sees the hint of a smirk dancing on those plump lips but he isn't sure because he's standing pretty far from him.

He resumes his discussion with Yusuf and Ariadne before the latter asks him to dance a waltz with her. After a nod from Yusuf, he complies and dances a little awkwardly with Ariadne amongst their peers who doesn't seem to pay any mind to them. Ariadne looks at him, a little smugly.

«Don't you find anyone to your taste, my dear friend?» She asks, amused. «What about Elizabeth? Or Mary, maybe?»

Arthur only smiles and sighs, his friends are always trying to set him up but he doesn't much care for it.

She raises an eyebrow, her eyes mischievous.

«Or maybe... Maybe I'm not looking for the right kind of person?»

Arthur swings her around softly, a hand on her hips.

«Robert, maybe?»

Arthur has some trouble muffling his laughter at that.

«Oh, Ariadne. You should give up already, I'm a lost cause and you know it.» He replies.

«Did I, at least, get closer?»

Arthur looks away, mysteriously.

«Maybe you did.»

Arthur doesn't really care for relationships. In his opinion, people are inherently deceitful and he would rather not waste time on pointless relationships whether they were involving women or not. Arthur didn't think much about people, so he didn't think about wanting to be in a relationship. He doesn't know. Maybe deep down, he does, but he's not going to yell it from the rooftops.

He catches a glimpse of the stranger across the room each time he spins with Ariadne in his arms; he's still staring. He hasn't move from his spot, as if his cuffs were stuck to the chimney's marble.

Arthur is a little relieved when the waltz comes to an end and he returns Ariadne to the arm of her loving fiancé. Another waltz starts and Dominic takes Mallorie's hand to lead her to the dance floor, her smile and laugh brightening up the whole room as she moves in a flutter of red muslin. They're followed closely by Yusuf and Ariadne, who doesn't lack energy to keep on dancing, impressing Arthur. One dance and he's already a little tired from spinning around. It might be because he is too stiff in his dancing, he is not sure.

He finds himself alone, all the women dancing already, since it is a custom to invite more men than women to be sure everyone gets to dance and that the dance floor is never scarcely occupied. Arthur glances around and notes a few other men standing alone, waiting for their turn to dance, but he also notes that the strange man is nowhere to be seen. This news conflicts him : though the stranger’s intense stare had disturbed him, now that he had disappeared, Arthur couldn’t help but wonder about him.

He takes a flute of champagne when a waiter strolls near him and heads to the balcony nearby. The windows are ajar and he sneaks outside in the cold air that he earlier despised, but is now thankful for as it is surprisingly stuffy inside. He leans on his elbow, all his weight resting on the stone balustrade, and looks at the beautiful garden of the mansion.

Trees and plants form orderly rows and circles. In the distance, a finely pruned maze stands in the dark, blanketed by a thick layer of snow. Everything seems frozen in time when covered in snow, Arthur thinks.

He finishes his drink and goes back inside when the music stops. If not, Ariadne would suspect he was avoiding the waltz. Well, she wouldn't be wrong. Arthur isn't really keened on dancing until his feet bleed. He would rather have those feet tucked under a blanket and reading.

Yet when he glances around, he still cannot see any lady waiting to be asked to dance. So, he retreats to a corner, the alcohol slowly setting in his system making him feel slightly less awkward standing there alone and uninvited.

Arthur starts when a warm hand settles on his shoulder, he spins around quickly, surprised. The stranger is standing in front of him, a grin on his face, his ash blond hair perfectly slicked back and stubble covering his jaw and chin. Arthur won't lie, he finds the man quite attractive.

«Oh, darling.» The man purrs and Arthur is taken aback by his low and raspy voice. He belatedly notes the endearment and tries to prevent himself from frowning. «I thought you had left already. That would have been a shame.»

Arthur meets his eyes and the man slowly lets go of his shoulder, Arthur instantly missing the warmth of his hand even in the heat of the ballroom.

«I'm still here, as you can see.»

«Considering you don't seem to have any partners, I assume you're free for this dance?»

Arthur frowns.

«This isn't proper etiquette, sir. Two men aren't supposed to dance together.»

«We must have you dance. Forget the etiquette for a minute, darling.»

And Arthur barely has the time to understand what happens before he is standing in front of the man amongst other dancers as a new waltz starts. He recognizes it immediately, it is the Blue Danube.

The man quickly sets his hand on Arthur's waist and take his hand in his.

«But-» Arthur starts, and the man cuts him off right away.

«Do you want to cause a scene? Just enjoy this dance.» So Arthur remains quiet and lets the man lead him around, swinging gently to the rhythm of the violins slowly setting a more dynamic path than at the beginning of the piece. Rapidly enough, he finds himself waltzing and enjoying it more than he'd admit.

As the pace quickens up, he nearly stumbles on his feet and the man chuckles. Arthur glares.

«Put your hand on my shoulder, it'll give you a better balance.» The man instructs.

Arthur scoffs but does it anyway and finds that indeed, it helps him keep his momentum better than having his arm rest against his side.

«This isn't proper etiquette either.»

The man laughs, it's rich, it's deep and it's beautiful and Arthur feels his heart clench. The man's teeth are crooked, yet it doesn't diminish his beauty, it strangely works.

«Don't you think we are far past that, now?» The man says, a smile plastered on his handsome face.

«I guess so.» Arthur mutters and he feels himself slightly blushing, nothing he can't hide.

They're getting some looks, some outraged, some intrigued and some playful. He catches Ariadne's eyes and she smiles at winks at him. Mallorie smiles fondly at them and returns her attention to her husband.

«I have to admit, I was not going to talk to you at first.» The man confessed. «But after seeing you, oh, so lonely, I couldn't help myself. You're too adorable to not be taken to dance.»

Arthur blushes furiously and curses silently.

«Well, you stared at me so intently, I wasn't sure if you wanted to murder me or something.» Arthur replies as the man pushes him closer to his chest, Arthur's face almost resting in the crook of his neck. Arthur has to look up to meet the man's eyes. He isn't that much taller but in this position, it's the only way Arthur gets to look at him.

«I should have introduced myself.» The man says apologetically, still leading Arthur around with his hand pressing against the small of his back. «My name is Eames.»

Arthur looks up from the shirt the man is wearing and that is making his eyes water. Is that... Paisley? At a formal reception? What is this.

«I'm Arthur.» He says softly, as he realises the name is familiar, but he can't quite place it. Where had he heard this name before?

«So, tell me, Arthur. How did you get here?» Arthur's stomach turns when the man says his name dragging the vowels on his tongue as if it was delicious. 

«Mallorie... Erm, Mrs. Cobb invited me.»

Eames raises an eyebrow. «Oh, an invitation from the host herself. But I see why she'd want to have you around. Doesn't everyone want to have a chance to share a dance with you?»

«I don't know.» Arthur says honestly. «I don't really like to dance.»

«But you dance quite well, darling.» Eames says as he leads them through the room spinning in tempo as the violins grow faster before returning to a slower cadence.

«It's only because you lead well.»

«You flatter me, Arthur.» Eames replies, a genuine smile tugging at the corners of his pretty mouth.

«Maybe this is inappropriate but, do I know you? I mean, are you famous? Your name is really familiar?»

«Famous? I wouldn't say that. But I do tend to be the talk of the town nowadays because I like to mess with the nobles.»

Arthur chokes back a sound of surprise. «Are you not from the upper-class?»

«Oh, I am, I am, darling. But there's no ill annoying your peers from time to time.» He replies jokingly.

«Mr. Eames, you sound like a brigand when you talk like that.»

Eames laughs and tightens his grip around Arthur's waist, his broad chest pressed against Arthur’s narrow one. This is only then that Arthur notices how much more muscular than himself he is, he's not buff but Arthur can feel the muscles twitching under his fingers as Eames keeps Arthur turning around to the beat.

«Oh maybe I am.»

«I cannot tell if you're being serious or not, Mr. Eames.» Arthur deadpans but lets the man lead him around as he knows the end of the waltz is coming.

Eames only chuckles and Arthur diverts his attention to the warmth of Eames' body and the feel of his hand in his. Calloused yet soft hands gently holding him close. Their feet moving in harmony as Eames spins them around when the tempo of the waltz quickens pressing Arthur against him.

Arthur stops fighting to keep his head straight and rests it against Eames' shoulder. The man smells good, a musk and something woody, he is not sure what it is. He detects a note of mint too, under a layer of cigarette smoke.

Eames keeps smiling, and even if he cannot see him, Arthur knows Eames is looking down at him, maybe with amusement at his surrender. The song is closing on them and the violins speed up a last time as Eames whispers in his ear.

«Be ready, I'm gonna dip you.»

Arthur barely has the time to open his eyes that he feels Eames' hands shifting deeper on his back to get a better grip.

«Wait! No, _don't_ -»

And Eames dips him swiftly as the music comes to an end and Arthur scrambles to get a better grip on Eames to avoid falling down. His nails dig deeper into Eames' hand and his other hand grabs the man's vest.

«Don't be so surprised and scared, darling.» Eames laughs as he pulls him back up and he hears someone clapping. He bets it's Ariadne. He looks up despite the blush spreading on his cheeks and ears and he is proven right.

She stands next to Mallorie who is smiling enigmatically, clapping her hands smugly. Arthur looks away, embarrassed to be caught in this situation. He shouldn't have let Eames have this dance. This wasn't appropriate, it would of course only lead to embarrassment and Eames must be laughing right now. Eames still has one hand on Arthur's back, almost possessively, Arthur pushes away subtly but strongly enough that the hand drops away immediately. And before Eames can add any smart comment, Arthur storms off, making his way through the crowd of bon vivants to the balcony. He disappears behind the heavy curtains leaving the party behind, knowing for sure that Ariadne has a puzzled look on her face, that Mallorie shakes her head sadly and Eames... What would he do? Probably laugh at this child who can't take a joke. Surely.

Arthur feels stupid and played as he is greeted by the biting wind, he cannot accept that he enjoyed the dance, that he liked being pressed again this stranger and appreciated their friendly banter. A joke, that was, without the shadow of a doubt, what it was to Eames. Maybe he made a bet with someone to get this newbie to dance with him and embarrass him in front of everyone. Arthur won't forget the looks of disgust and outrage he got.

His hands are shaking so much; he shouldn't have come. To try to conceal his anxiety, he puts his hands on the balustrade, gripping it as if it was his lifeline so hard his knuckles turn white under the pressure.

After a few minutes, his breathing begins to return to normal and perhaps, he thinks he overreacted. Perhaps.

The music is still jovial as it filters through the gaping window. The world is going on about its business as always, relaxing Arthur.

«Darling?»

Arthur starts, one of his hands slipping from the tight grasp he held on the stone.

Arthur turns away slowly to face Eames once again, he's standing in between the two panels of the door, Arthur looks down, staring at the snow that began to fall slowly earlier, melting on the stone.

«Arthur?» Eames tries again. But Arthur can't get himself to look up, he still feels shame.

Eames sighs and walks to him, brushing a hand against Arthur's cheek. The later starts at the sudden touch, far too intimate for someone you just met twenty minutes ago. Eames drops his hand when Arthur flinches but remains close. He appears to be considering what he should say next, hoping to find the right words.

Arthur crosses his arms, trying to put some distance between them and keeps staring at the ground as if he had developed a new sudden interest in it.

Eames sighs, shaking his head in a slow fashion.

«Would you even listen to me, dear Arthur?»

Arthur remains silent, unsure of what to say. What do you even say to someone you met merely moments before who's trying to sweep you off of your feet?

«Dear angel of mine, how do I start to express how I feel?»

Arthur finally looks up, shyly meeting Eames' greyish eyes but doesn't pip a word.

«Does my presence bother you? Tell me to leave you alone and I promise you, I will.» Eames breathes and Arthur thinks he detects a touch of worry in his low pitched voice.

«What do you want, Mr. Eames?» Arthur says, knowing Eames is sincere when he says he'd leave, but strangely, Arthur doesn't want him to. Not yet. He isn't sure why. So he blurts out the first thing he thinks off, just to keep Eames there a little longer. Because Eames seems to be able to appear and disappear at his will, impossible to grasp without him slipping away like sand.

Eames seems to repress a tiny smile, as if Arthur's words were all he needed, and resumes his serious demeanour.

«Your heart.» The man says, without flinching.

Arthur wonders for a second if he means it literally and plans on dissecting him or if he's being, somewhat romantic.

«This is not how it works, Mr. Eames. Don't you know how love works?» Arthur looks away to the garden again. He should be cold but he feels too warm inside. He feels himself flush slightly.

«I know. And I know also that this is the only thing I cannot just take and keep without asking.»

Eames scoots near him and rests nonchalantly against the balustrade. Arthur is amazed by how beautiful he looks in this instant, the soft lights playing on his face and in his eyes, how his hair slowly unravels as the snow catches in it like tiny gems.

«But I can't help it, I desire it anyway.» He pursues. «Never have I wanted something this badly. Not a jewel, not a painting, not anything valuable.»

«I don't even know you...» Arthur whispers, almost to himself. «And you don't know me either.»

Suddenly, Arthur hears commotion coming from inside the ballroom. Eames has noticed too, his eyes fixed on the window. Arthur can hear people yelling and screaming about something he cannot quite make out. He sees Dominic and Mallorie running around, talking to people hurriedly.

Suddenly, Eames is on him, holding Arthur's hand close to his chest, his eyes bearing a pained expression.

«Do you know how I got here, dear Arthur?»

«You were invited?» Arthur is a little confused by the sudden question and change of topic. Eames shakes his head, looking fondly at him, almost as if he were a child.

«I stole an invitation. I'd have never been invited here.»

Arthur's brows rise in confusion.

«What do you mean?» He asks, his hand unconsciously holding Eames' tighter as if he was going to disappear again. Maybe it's the case. The man is talking quickly as if he's running out of time, some impending doom looming over him.

«Right now I have a sword of Damocles hanging above my head, I'm taking a risk staying with you.I'm almost out of time.» He lets Arthur's hand fall and sits on the balustrade.

Arthur starts to feel the prickling of panic in his stomach. He's so lost, what is Eames talking about?

But before Arthur can voice his worries, Eames speaks again, this time, almost pleading.

«Darling, won't you take a leap of faith with me?» He says, extending his hand to Arthur again.

«You're an enigma to me, Mr. Eames.» He says, turning to face Eames, the tumult of the room behind him. Is it because of Eames?

«Darling. Won't you?» Eames presses and Arthur thinks quickly “fuck it” and gently places his hand in Eames' open palm.

Eames squeezes his hand as if to be sure he's not dreaming and pull Arthur towards him.

In a blur, Eames' lips are on his, soft yet demanding. Arthur barely registers the hand resting on the back of his neck, pressing him closer. Their lips slide together tenderly, the kiss nothing but chaste. Arthur's breath catches in his throat as Eames let him slide his arms around his neck.

He wants to think straight, to see he is wrong for doing that, he doesn't even know Eames, but his brain is consumed by the warmth emanating from the mouth on his, tasting delicately of champagne and tobacco, a mix he never thought he'd find pleasant.

Eames breaks to kiss to Arthur's dismay, but not before lightly biting on Arthur's lower lip.

Arthur has trouble catching his breath as Eames smiles at him, genuinely and truly. He starts when Eames finger brushes his collar, playing with the ribbon tied there. The knot easily slips undone and Eames expertly pulls the burgundy fabric away from Arthur's neck.

«I'm keeping this.» He grins. «As a souvenir.»

All at once, the guests slam the window open and Arthur almost snaps his neck looking at it so quickly. When he looks where Eames was standing, he's gone. He vanished into thin air, nowhere to be seein in the snow covered garden.

Mallorie runs to him, her face creased with worry and concern, Dominic strolling behind her. She grabs Arthur by the arms, protectively.

«Arthur! Are you okay?» She asks, searching his face for something. Arthur knows he's still blushing from the rapid kiss but he's confused about why he wouldn't be okay since Mallorie doesn't know about it.

Ariadne appears at Mallorie's side, her scrunched up face suddenly relieved.

«Arthur, I was worried!» He raises an inquisitive eyebrow. «I am fine, what is this all about? Why wouldn't I be?»

Ariadne pulls him into a tight hug. «Oh, Arthur, are you sure you haven't been hit on the head?»

Arthur pats her back and slowly pulls her away. «What? What happened?»

Ariadne runs a hand through the folds of her dress to straighten it and Mallorie starts talking.

«Someone noticed they lost some of their jewelry, then Yusuf found that his watch had disappeared too, and several of our guests reported missing something of great value. So Ariadne figured out someone must be a thief, stealing things at this ball.»

«But it couldn't be someone we invited, because we make sure to personally know everyone and to have someone else vouch for them.» Dominic adds.

«That's when Mrs. Cobb tried to cross-check everyone at the party with the guest list.» Yusuf said.

Arthur is slowly putting pieces together. «That's when I remembered the gentleman who danced with you. I didn't know him and neither did Dom.» Mallorie says, her voice soft with concern. «And Ariadne told me she had seen him follow you to the balcony.»

«Eames...» Arthur whispers under his breath; suddenly everything made sense, from him jokingly saying he was a bandit to the line about getting everything he wishes for. Arthur remembers Eames' panicked expression when the commotion had started. He had to leave or he would have been caught. He took a risk, a great risk to stay with Arthur.

Ariadne is almost shaking. «We were thinking the worst, Arthur. I'm so glad you're alright.»

«He didn't steal anything from you, did he?»

Arthur shook his head.

«Good, you're now the only person in London who had an encounter with the infamous Mr. Eames, thief of the state, and got away with everything you had on you before meeting him.» Yusuf jokes.

That's when Arthur notices some policemen and guests in suits and coats roaming the garden, obviously looking for Eames. Arthur's heart is tight in his chest. And he hopes they never catch him.

«Are you sure?» Mallorie asks as she rests a protective hand on his shoulder. «Do you have your watch?»

Arthur pats his pocket, but he knows it's still there.

«No, he didn't steal anything from me.»

But Arthur is lying.

Eames stole something much more valuable than his watch, or even his ribbon. Eames, as the master thief he is, stole his heart and ran away with it in the night.

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for reading! You can find me on Tumblr : [Malfunctioningtotem](http://malfunctioningtotem.tumblr.com)  
> Eames' line, "Dear Angel, how do I start to express how I feel?", is shamelessly stolen from April Sixth's "Dear Angel".


End file.
